click
by Ten-Faced
Summary: She takes pictures. He watches, and helps out sometimes. – AU, KennyZoey, for KittyKatLovesBooks.


_Disclaimer: Nothing. _

_A/N: For the Shootsdown Challenge by KittyKatLovesBooks._

* * *

"Hello, Kenny."

"Morning, Nurse Joy."

"Yes, morning. How do you feel?"

"Good, I think."

"That's great! Did you have good dreams?"

"Sure did! The world was painted red, and everyone was covered in the liquid crimson, dripping everywhere, sleeping on the ground!"

"Hmmm..."

_Sounds of a pen scratching at paper._

"Nurse Joy, what do you write on that clipboard every day?"

"Oh, just… things."

"May I see?"

"Sadly, no. It's like a diary, you see. Personal, and secret."

"Okay, I understand."

"Thank you, Kenny. Alright, I'll go now, and if you need anything, just ring the bell, alright?"

"Okay."

* * *

He's insane, not stupid. He gets to his feet, slipping on the flimsy slippers designed for smooth, clean hospital floors, and passes the spotlessly clean door to the sterile halls, and makes his way to the library, the only place in this sparkling clean place that has dust in it.

Silently passing the shelves, he sits on the windowsill and looks out the clear barrier preventing him from being outside.

And, as usual, she's out there. Just like she'd been for the past week.

Luscious crimson hair, cropped short but still, he thinks that there is no length of silk in the world that can rival them. Her eyes are rubies, and there is no treasure worth more than those cherry orbs.

She's frowning, but even that is the face of an angel. In her hands is a camera, and while he's too far away to see what kind it is, he still envies the device.

She lifts it to her face, and snaps a few shots of the poor garden and the people taking a walk with their nurses.

He wishes he had a camera, too, so he could take the picture of the camera-girl.

* * *

"Nurse Joy?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I go outside?"

_She looked up_. "Outside the hospital?" _There is a trace of alarm in her voice._

"Outside, to the garden."

_Relief washes her face._ "Oh, of course!"

* * *

He's barred himself from leaving the building, the clean, monochrome, germ-free building, as the self-inflicted punishment the judge was too selfish to not give him.

Now, after a year, he walks into direct sunlight, wincing at the harsh rays hitting his sensitive skin, and makes his way to the camera-girl.

* * *

She looks at him, and sees a kindred soul immediately. A connection is made, and the camera is lifted to snap a shot.

_Click._

* * *

"I'm Kenny."

"Zoey."

_Click._

"You're taking my picture."

"Yup."

_Click._

* * *

Instinctively, Zoey clutches tighter at her camera. That is one of the few kindnesses she can remember, her best friend and nearly, very nearly, her whole life.

It's also the only thing that lets Zoey see things without losing herself.

* * *

"Why do you take pictures?"

It's been a week, and he's never seen her once part with the camera.

She hands him her fragile rope, her anchor to this world. She trusts him.

He takes a look, at the miniature him on the fingerprint-smudged screen, and sees the bad lighting, the awkward pose and expression, and thinks he understands.

Everything seems like a puppet show, where there are no real people. Just puppets, being controlled, the flimsy things.

Maybe she doesn't like to lose people, too. Maybe she just wants to pretend nothing is real.

* * *

He tells her his theory, and she smiles lazily. _Not the reason, though very close._

_The real reason?_

_Life is too short. Everything will be forgotten and lost. The pictures immortalize the moment, lets it last._

Unlike the nurses, he understands why she must make as many moments as possible immortal, even if that moment is something that looks odd.

He also understand that she wants to record more than just the average, same days she's trapped in.

And such a lovely dream from a lovely person should be granted, he thinks.

So he tells her, that they'll have to rendezvous, and she'll have to trust him.

* * *

She's still in the garden, but now, instead of being surrounded by the peaceful green, it's red. Red, orange, yellow, and black, with heat and light and screams, and the smell of burning flesh.

She lifts the camera and takes a few pictures.

_Click. Click. Click._

He's behind her, a cheerful smile on his face.

"Do you like it?"

She turns, pausing her work, and smiles faintly.

"I love it."

It's a nice present, such a lovely scene.

_Click. Click._

And it's immortal now.

_Click._

* * *

_Inspiration: Senbonzakura covered by Yamai, iNSaNiTY by SF-A2 Miki and Kaito, Matryoshka covered by Nobunaga_


End file.
